Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. She wished she had not stood up. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. I'll have my man Wu over here as soon as I can get in touch with him.
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